The Longest Journey
by Hellvetica
Summary: A mysterious stranger, A curse that nobody thought would transcend oceans, and the remarkable Journey that would only come once in a lifetime. [AU] [Inutachi, Miyatsu/OC]
1. The Void

"**The Longest Journey" - An InuYasha Fanfiction **

**Obligatory Disclaimer: **I don't own anything, this is a work of fanfiction based on InuYasha published by Rumiko Takahashi/Shogakukan/and Sunrise Inc. All rights reserved to the respective copyright holders.

This is a work of fiction, names, locations and the like are *mostly* made up for entertainment purposes only. Any likenesses to people, places, or locations is entirely coincidental.

* * *

**Chapter 1 – The Void**

**Venice, 1539 **

It was a clear night when the elderly man heard a series of frantic knocks at his door. "Visitors, at this hour?" He yawned, setting his glass of warm goat's milk aside on the mantle of his fireplace. Slowly, he walked towards the door as the knocks became even more frantic in their rhythm. When he opened the door, he saw a woman, no older than 30, with a young boy wrapped in a thick wool blanket laying across her shoulder. The child's sweaty face was anguished with a pained expression as if he was fighting for his dear life. Limp blonde hair stuck to his sweaty forehead as he let out one labored breath after the other.

"Signora D'Amico. For what do I owe this very late visit?" the elderly man asked, his fingers stroked his white beard as he looked around. The cobblestone street was clear at that time of night as well as the canal that passed through the city with neither a carriage or gondola in sight.

Tears streamed down the woman's face as she looked into the elderly man's periwinkle eyes. "Signore Grimaldi, I beg of you. Please help my son."

* * *

The old man motioned the woman and her injured son inside the house. Once inside the house, he cranked a mechanical pulley, revealing a hatch with stairs underneath the floor. Grabbing a candlestick, Grimaldi led the woman and child down the stairs into his workshop. Walking over to the bookshelf, the old man cranked another pulley as an examination table attached to thick iron chains slowly descended from the ceiling.

"Signora, please place the child on the table so I can get a look at him."

The woman nodded as she unwrapped the boy from the blanket. The child shivered as he held his right hand. Grimaldi studied the child, noticing that his right hand was bound with cloth bandages. A wooden rosary with a crucifix wrapped around the hand as if shielding the child from something foul. The boy certainly smelled foul as the strong scent of miasma enveloped the child's body. But that was the least of Grimaldi's worries as the rosary was quickly losing its grasp on the boy and the whirring sounds coming from the bound hand were getting steadily louder. The boy opened his eyes for a minute. Glassed over cerulean pools stared back at his mother and the old wizard. "Mama, I'm scared" the boy whinged through quivering lips.

"Shh, it's okay, Michael. Signore Grimaldi will help you get better. Just hold on." The woman coaxed her son, her hands skimmed his hair as the boy closed his eyes again. His fever hadn't broken yet but at least his labored breathing subsided, just for a minute.

Grimaldi took another look at the shabby rosary. Part of one of the wooden beads was already starting to crack. "Signora, we haven't much time. Tell me, where is Bertolio; where is your husband?"

"He's at sea. He set sail for the New World about two months ago. Why?"

Grimaldi removed the nightcap from his head, placing it against his chest. "Signora, I'm afraid that your husband has passed on to the next life and the curse in his hand to the boy. You have my deepest condolences."

The woman sank to her knees, propping her elbows on the table as she sobbed into her son's bound hand. "No...it's not possible. Michael!" She cried out.

"Please, Signora. Remain calm. I can save the boy, just like how I saved his father all those years ago." Grimaldi reassured her.

The woman nodded. "I leave him in your hands."

* * *

Rolling up the sleeves of his nightgown, the old man went to his workstation. His nimble but bony fingers flipped through the pages of an ancient grimoire. "I need to get started on crafting an amulet to keep the void at bay. The Vatican's magic is not strong enough to hold it in for much longer."

Grimaldi pulled a laundry list of ingredients from his shelf, throwing a bit of each into a large cauldron. Working fast by measuring, and grinding different resins and stones with the mortar and pestle. "It's a good thing you came here when you did, any later and the entirety of Venice would be lost into the void." The old man remarked as he threw the remaining ingredients into the brew. The cauldron bubbled with an indigo hue.

"One last ingredient. The hair of the unicorn." he muttered, tossing a thick almost translucent strand of silver hair into the cauldron. Immediately, the cauldron changed color to a bright ocean blue. The old wizard then took a flat, polished stone in a pair of tongs, dunking it into the magical brew. When the stone came out of the brew a few minutes later; it too had changed color into a bright, brilliant, turquoise that seemed to glow from within.

"Un minuto, I still need to sew the amulet into a vessel." Grimaldi said as he placed the amulet into a silver cabochon. He then proceeded to sew the amulet to the top of a small fingerless leather glove with a buckled clasp that folded across the palm. "Ah, Perfetto!" He exclaimed, measuring the glove to the child's free hand.

"Signora, I am about to remove the rosary and the bandages. For your safety, please hold on to something sturdy. You can even grab onto me if you wish to do so. Your ample bosom will be perfect leverage." The old man smirked with a perverse grin.

"Filthy wizard." The woman groaned, folding her arms over her chest. "Just help my son." The woman snapped as she grabbed onto the bolted-down bookcase next to her.

As soon as Grimaldi removed the rosary and the bandages from the child's hand, everything in the room that wasn't nailed down started flying towards the void in the boy's hand. Quickly, he slipped the glove over the hand and once again, the small workshop came to a standstill as glass shattered and books hit the ground below. A frog managed to escape his jar during the wind attack, the creature hopped up the stairwell, escaping to freedom. Mrs. D'Amico let out a long breath, loosening her grip from the bookcase. She moved her disheveled blonde hair out of her face.

"So, is it fixed?" the woman asked, peering over the table at her young son.

Adjusting his spectacles back into place, Grimaldi studied the hand again. The miasma scent had disappeared and the whirring sound came to a complete silence. The boy's fever broke the second the glove was placed over his hand. He looked up at his mother for a minute before falling back asleep.

"The miasma and the fever are gone but, the boy will still need a lot of rest. You have no idea the absolute hell his tiny body had to endure." Grimaldi said as he wrapped the boy back into the woolen blanket, handing the child back to his mother.

"Thank you, Signore Grimaldi." The woman said with a bow as she headed towards the stairs.

"One last thing Signora. Never let him take the glove off, not even to bathe. For if he does, he'll have doomed us all. If there is any trouble with the seal, please see me as soon as possible."

"Buona notte, Signore Grimaldi." The woman said with a nod as she exited the wizard's abode.

* * *

**[A/N]** Well, there you have it! This is the first, albeit very short chapter of my new fic. I've had this idea rolling around in my brain for a very long time now and I'm so exicted to put my mind barf to paper. I was always deeply fascinated with the lore of the Kazaana/Wind Tunnel in the original series that I wanted to explore a "what if" scenario. What if Naraku's curse not only transcended generations but also an entire continent. And what if Miroku's Grandfather had somehow left his mark not only in Japan, but in Europe as well. As a history buff and a huge fantasy nerd, I'm so excited to flesh this story out and I hope my readers will be just as excited to read it. Thank you all so much!

~Hellvetica


	2. Blackhand Michael

**Chapter 2 - Blackhand Michael **

**Florence, 1550. **

Sweat beaded down from the young man's forehead as he waited in the cramped cell for the executioner to lead him to the gallows where his fate would be met by a knotted rope around his neck. Just his luck that he'd be hung on one of the hottest midsummer afternoons. At the age of 21, Michael D'Amico would die today, in the prime of his youth with no wife to mourn his loss and no son to carry on his legacy or his good looks. Which at this point, seemed nonexistent due to the fact that he hadn't bathed in the two weeks since being locked up and the newly-formed beard on his face was starting to itch from the stench and sweat. At least on the ship he kept his baths regular. Normally, Michael would wear his wavy, shoulder-length blonde hair in a loose low ponytail with wispy bangs that framed his fine features; Features that he inherited through his father. He never knew Bertolio D'Amico all too well. The man was a deadbeat married to adventure and the last time he saw him was just before the voyage that cost him his life and thrust the godforsaken curse of the void upon his only son.

Michael scratched his beard. The itch was unbearable. He'd have to shave it once free. Otherwise the ladies of Venice might be disappointed, and if there was one thing he didn't like to do, it was disappoint the ladies. At that moment, Michael thought about his mother and younger sister, Veronica, back in Venice. They were probably worried sick that he hadn't sent them a letter in months. Or worse, already mourning his death depending on how fast the news of his hanging traveled.

Then he thought about the crew aboard his ship: The Avantasia, and how bored they must be waiting on him to make his escape. If there was one thing he knew about the crew, they were an impatient, impulsive bunch. Especially his first mate and childhood best friend: Angela Rinaldi. She especially didn't like to be left waiting for very long. Nor did she appreciate it when he'd show attention to her buxom figure. Angela, being more of a tactician than a person who relied on brute strength wasn't much of a violent person but Michael could bring the she-devil right out of her. The many welts that would form on his face after groping her breasts and backside could've told him that much. It'd been that way since they were children, Michael would usually get his ass handed to him when he'd do something dumb, like ditch the crew to go spend their earnings at a brothel or worse; Courtesans. A phantom pain throbbed in his lower jaw from remembering that one. He'd especially feel her wrath if his perverted schemes involved her twin brother, Vincenzo. Angela was fiercely protective of her brother, and for good reason, Vinny was the only family she had left.

Under normal circumstances, Michael would've escaped by now with the help of his crew but the harsh law enforcement in Florence was a can of worms he certainly didn't plan on opening. It was an ambush almost as soon as the crew arrived. Word went around that the ferryman tipped the palace off, and the ferryman was awarded a substantial reward for the tip. Although annoyed that his reputation once again was a detriment to not only himself but also to his loyal crew. He was valuable either dead or alive so who could blame the country of Florence for enforcing his capture at 300,000 Florins for his head? He shuddered to think how much larger the sum of his capture would be in his home country of Venice, or worse, the Vatican in Rome. From Madrid to Alexandria, there wasn't a single person who hadn't heard the name of Blackhand Michael: The devil pirate with the void to Hell in his hand. Fame, infamy, whatever you wanted to call it put a high price on whoever could send his head to the Vatican first.

For all Michael's transgressions as a rogue, a thief, a plunderer. His execution while swift, would be made public. It seemed that the entire city would be gathered outside the platform to see him meet his end. He knew as well as anyone else there was nothing quite like a hanging to get the crowds riled up. Little did the crowd gathering outside know that his demise would be theirs as well; For the void in the young man's hand had grown bigger since last out at sea. And if Michael couldn't get to Venice in time to have Old Man Grimaldi to patch it up; Florence could become nothing more than a crater. Brushing his unwashed hair out from his face with his good hand, Michael observed the man keeping guard outside his cell. He was a big fellow, about six foot five and probably not too bright either, judging by the way he carried himself around the other, more elite, guards in his squadron. Definitely the dumb muscle type. A smug grin formed on the pirate's face. If he was going to feign going out like this, the least he could do is have a little fun in the process. Michael turned around to look outside the bars. Past the guard, in a dark corridor, he saw a cloaked figure ready and waiting in the shadows. The figure turned around, silently instructing the pirate to keep quiet as her slender fingers wrapped around the grip of an ornate matchlock pistol readied at her side. A gun that rare could've only belonged to one woman, Angela, and she was definitely tired of waiting on him to make a break for it.

"You know, if you just let me go you could spare this city a world of hurt when my neck snaps and the curse in my hand swallows everything in its path. Are a few minutes of wholesome entertainment worth the expense of every citizen of Florence?" Michael declared in a smug tone with his back against the bars of the cell.

"Don't get cocky with me, pirate. Your threats of witchcraft have no effect here. Consider yourself lucky that God is merciful enough to grant you a swift death."

Michael snorted at the guard's statement. "Witchcraft? You think the curse that befalls my right hand is mere witchcraft? If it was witchcraft, signore, I would've rid myself of this burden long ago. God isn't merciful, if he was, I'd already be dead. "

"If I had my way, I'd throw you over the roof of the prison. Never speak of the Lord's name in vain you arrogant cazzone!" The guard snarled at Michael. Michael snorted at the guard's rise in temper, this was going to be too easy.

"Then do it. Are you too much of a coward to kick a man who's wasted away in prison for two weeks. All you have to do is unlock the cell."

"So, you'd let me beat the shit out of you for the next ten minutes, until the executioner arrives? No strings attached?"

"You have my word as a merchant." Michael bowed, humbly placing his shackled left hand over his heart.

"No funny business, Pirate. I knock your teeth in and you go back into the cell. Got it." The guard said as he slowly twisted the key into the lock.

* * *

The cell door creaked open as Michael stepped out of the cell to face the guard. Before he could even register the hit, he was struck by the force of the guard's fist against his jaw. The force of the hit knocked Michael to the floor, he spat a stream of blood as he tried to rise to his feet. Before he could get up all the way, he heard a loud bang causing the guard in front of him to fall to the floor. Blood oozed from the man's eye where the pellet from Angela's gun struck him.

"You bitch!" The guard spat, holding his hand against his wounded eye.

"Hm, looks like my aim was off. This one's still alive." Angela muttered to herself as she readied the pistol for another shot. "If you value your miserable existence, you should run. I never miss on the second shot."

The guard quickly rushed to his feet when he heard Angela light the match again. As he sped off down the corridor, Angela aimed her pistol at the opposite side of the walkway, blasting away the padlock of another locked cell that held prisoners, all men, all severely malnourished. The men thanked the woman as they too made an escape.

"Nice shot, Ange. But couldn't you have done it a little earlier. That blow that buffoon left me will certainly leave a nasty bruise." Michael said as he rose to his feet, rubbing his sore jaw. He spat again, this time with a sigh of relief that only one of his teeth came loose. He'd have to get Grimaldi to fix that too.

"That was for making me and the crew wait for two weeks. Next time when your life and the lives of an entire country are on the line, please try to be a little faster with your escape plan, or in this case, lack of." Angela remarked in a deadpan tone as she wedged the pistol into the holster on her hip. Taking a hairpin from the satchel around her waist, she picked at the locked shackles around Michael's wrists. Within seconds, the iron cuffs fell to the ground. Michael flexed his wrists, thankful that the heavy things were finally off.

"Honestly, Michael. Vinny, Paolo, and I were so worried that you'd actually died. Even Dietrich was starting to get worried and you know that man has the emotional range of driftwood."

"Where is the rest of the crew, are they not with you?" Michael asked, wondering why she came alone.

"Only Vinny is waiting for us outside. With the void in your hand badly injured. I left it up to Paolo and the others to get the ship to Venice. He should be arriving in a week's time. However, for us it would be much faster if we went by horse and buggy. That's not a problem is it?"

Michael shook his head "No, not at all. At least traveling with Vincenzo will feel nostalgic, like when we were children. Your brother, he does have a way of keeping everyone entertained, even in the most dire of straits. I admire that quality in him."

"Good. We should probably get out of here before the one-eyed guard and the blast from my gun alerts the others. Something tells me they're not going to give you up without a fight."

Feeling woozy, Michael leaned against the wall. "Give me just one minute, Ange." he whinged, holding his stomach. "I haven't had a decent meal besides bread and water for two weeks and I'm awfully weak. Please, Ange, just let me hang off your shoulder."

"You're really in that bad of shape, huh?" She responded. Her cheeks turned a light pink upon thinking about the close contact with the captain leaning against her. She shook her head. Surely he wouldn't try anything perverted on her when injured. Then again, she wouldn't put it past him to feign an injury for a chance to feel her up either.

"Please. I just need someone to lean on."

"Fine, but if you grope my breasts even once, I'll drop you to the floor faster than a freshly boiled potato." Angela warned. Begrudgingly, she extended her arm out for the pirate captain to cling on to her.

"If we go this way, we'll be able to bypass the guards. We'll have to jump from the window at the end, but rest assured, Vinny is waiting outside with the cart." She said, pointing to a small corridor on the south side of the holding cells. Carefully, she and Michael stood against the wall of the corridor, trying to not make any noise to tip off the guards that they were still in the castle. The footsteps above had gotten even louder and it was only a matter of minutes before they made their way onto their floor.

A strand of Angela's long, curly, chestnut hair brushed against Michael's cheek. "Your hair smells good, Ange." he whispered, clinging on to her tightly.

Angela's cheeks flushed at the compliment. "I took a rose petal bath at the inn." she responded, continuing to sneak down the corridor.

Michael clung to her even tighter as they turned a corner, descending down a small stairwell used by the guards into another area of the castle. Angela let out a sigh of relief when they made it to the window. She signaled to Vinny outside to bring the buggy closer so she and the Michael could land in the hay if they couldn't climb down the rope ladder in time.

As soon as the two of them were about to exit out the window, a stampede of heavy footsteps enveloped the small corridor and before they knew it, they were surrounded by not only the one-eyed freak that Angela managed to wound earlier but six other guards including the captain of the guard himself. The other guards were bad enough on their own but their captain, he was a different sort of trouble. Nicknamed **The Inquisitioner** as a nod to his Spanish ancestry: Captain Dante Olivarez of the Florentine guard was well known around the barracks of the prison tower as a sadist when it came to _punishing_ the incarcerated. While there were no shortage of tortured men under his watch, female prisoners happened to be his favorite victims and the lovelier the woman, the more pain she would suffer. Although Captain Olivarez wasn't a tall man, his domineering aura and ruthless reputation more than made up for his lack of height. He stroked his oddly appropriate pointy goatee as he approached the pirates.

"Well, look who we have here. Two pirates for the price of one. Blackhand and his wench." The guard captain's eyes focused on Angela. "Angela Rinaldi, I must say, your wanted poster doesn't do your beauty any favors." The captain of the guard leered with a sadistic smirk as he held the tip of his rapier to her neck, lightly dragging the cold steel of the blade down to her collarbone. "Especially this slender neck of yours, it'd look absolutely divine with a rope around it as I choke the life from your very eyes."

"Eat shit." Angela spat at his face as she quietly kicked the remainder of the window open.

Captain Olivarez wiped the spit away from his cheek, chuckling at the pirate's brazen show of defiance. "You've nowhere to run my little seafaring strumpet. Now be a good girl and surrender Blackhand and I might let you live just a little longer...as my personal plaything."

"I'd rather die than have my body defiled by the likes of you." She uttered in a low tone, her face marred with a scowl full of hatred for the bloodthirsty guard holding her and Michael hostage.

"PSST... Ange. Jump." Michael whispered.

"Are you crazy? I'm not leaving you behind." she whispered in return, blissfully unaware that while the guard captain was distracted, Michael managed to use his pickpocket skills to swipe a rapier from one of the guards standing next to him.

"Just trust me, Ange, I know what I'm doing."

Angela nodded, throwing herself out the window and into the arms of her brother below. The two of them quickly escaped to the alleyway where the buggy was parked. The guards frantically looked out the window below for any trace of the pirate.

"That bitch thinks she can escape me?! Seize her!" The captain commanded half of his squadron to search the courtyard.

While the guards were distracted trying to find Angela, Michael managed to free himself from the grasp of the guard holding him captive. Quickly, he ran, jumping on the ledge of the window that Angela left open. Haughtily, he tousled his bangs back to give a speech to his assailants.

"I must say thanks to the wonderful penal system of Florence for their generous hospitality before I go. Or as they say in Paris: Adieu!"

"You're not going anywhere, Blackhand." The guard captain shouted, running towards the window to catch the man as he fell backwards out of the window, but not before cutting the chains holding the curtain rod with the stolen rapier. The fabric and the heavy iron covered the guard and his men, and as they struggled with the heavy jacquard fabric, Michael made his escape.

"Sir, he got away." One of the guards remarked after freeing himself and the rest of his squad from the fabric.

Limp, the captain's shoulder-length black hair stuck to his forehead, sweaty from being underneath the curtain. Furious, the captain bent the iron curtain rod that fell on him in half. "BLACKHAND IS A DEAD MAN!" He yelled, scrambling to his feet.

"WHAT ARE YOU IDIOTS JUST STANDING AROUND FOR, MOUNT THE HORSES AND GO AFTER HIM!"

* * *

Michael plopped back into the soft hay of the stolen buggy. "Ah, sweet freedom. Finally I can get some sleep on something that's not a hard floor."

"Don't get too comfortable, captain. We have company." Angela said, turning her attention on the path behind the buggy.

Sitting up, Michael heard the sound of horses galloping in the distance. Gripping onto the edge of the buggy, he gulped when he saw Captain Olivarez and three of his men closing in on them, each one of them armed with matchlock rifles.

"Alright, you stay low. I'll slaughter these goons." Angela readied her pistol, returning fire at the guards tailing them. She crouched lower when a torrent of fire headed her way. She the three guards off their horses while the guard captain retreated towards the castle.

Just when it seemed to be a clear retreat for the enemy, the captain came back with reinforcements, this time the pirate crew was vastly outnumbered. Angela managed to hit two more of the soldiers but not before a bullet grazed her forearm. With one hand covering the shallow wound, she tried to aim at them yet again. Michael noticed she was bleeding, quickly he grabbed her by the wrist, bringing her down to his level. His face was marred with a scowl. There was no way in Hell, he'd let Ange go out like this.

"Ange, what the Hell are you doing? There's too many of them for you to take them all at once!"

"Captain, I have to try, you can't risk opening the void." She pleaded, frantically clinging onto her captain. Blood from her open wound stained the sleeve of her white blouse. "I'm fine, really. It's just a nick." She winced in pain.

"I'm not going to sit here and let you and Vinny die because of me!" Michael yelled, unbuckling the glove over his right hand.

"Michael! No! You can't...!" Angela screamed, clinging onto him, trying to keep him out of sight from the guards.

"Stay back!" He commanded as the gale-force of the void sucked in everything in it's path, including some of the soldiers and their horses. Michael winced in pain as the hole cracked from the sides on his palm. Quickly, he slipped the covering of the glove over the void. His breathing was heavy when he passed out on the hay. As his consciousness faded, he saw Angela screaming his name, shaking him by the shoulders to wake up.

At least he was able to keep his friends safe; For now.

Minutes later, Angela let out a sigh of relief when Michael's heartbeat steadily increased. Thank goodness he was still alive, although he was in extremely bad shape from his reckless last-ditch-effort by opening the void. She cradled her wounded friend in her lap, stroking his flaxen hair as he remained unconscious. A makeshift bandage fashioned from fabric torn from the end of her sleeve hugged the wound in her arm where the bullet from the rifle hit her earlier.

Vinny stopped the horses to jump into the back of the buggy with his sister. He removed the beret from his head, placing it over his heart. His heart sank to his stomach as he crouched over the captain's limp form. "Is he.."

Angela shook her head. "Dead? No. He only blacked out."

"Well then, we have no time to waste getting him to Signore Grimaldi then." Vinny declared, straightening the beret on his head as he climbed back onto the driver's seat.

"Oh, and Ange. Keep the captain comfortable in his limited state. I don't want him to die on us before you two can give me some nieces and nephews. Okay?"

"Now's really not the time for that, Vincenzo. Just shut up and drive the stupid buggy to Signore Grimaldi. Interim Captain's orders!" Angela barked as her face blushed at Vinny's remark.

"Just saying, you two are perfect for each other."

"Vincenzo!" Angela scolded.

"Right, right. Onward to Signore Grimaldi." Vinny sighed as he sped up the horses.

Angela continued to stroke the captain's hair. "Please, Michael. Just hold on for a little longer." She whispered, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. Out into the horizon, the sunset peeked through the clouds in rich hues of orange and red. However, it would be sunset again by the time the pirates would arrive on the outskirts of Venice.

* * *

**A/N**: Sorry for the wait. I really need to stop procrastinating with my writing. Hopefully, the next chapter won't take nearly as long as this one.


End file.
